


Agent to Agent to Person to Person and a Dent in a Disk

by Half_Raised_Glasses



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers, StarKid Productions RPF, Tin Can Brothers RPF
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-01-10 18:53:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_Raised_Glasses/pseuds/Half_Raised_Glasses
Summary: A sequel as I imagine it to be, for the "Spies are Forever" play by the Tin Can Brothers (which I obviously have no ownership or quite literally anything but adoration of,) because the Chimera are still out there, there's no possible way Curt is fine after THAT, if only they had more TIME, oh dear god OWEN, there's so much to EXPLORE, and I'm HURT so I've got to be the one to FIX IT and...Remember, rememberSpies never dieSpies are forever





	1. Chapter 1

Curt hangs up the receiver at the public telephone and inhales deeply before releasing it in one sharp blow. There was a sense of finality there, not quite that of a conclusion, but one of an ending to a chapter in order to begin the new. That same anxious static of anticipation was in the air, and the exhilarating thrill of being free on his own after the many years as an agent--- property of the united states, made him kind of feel like a puppy finally being let loose. Or one that finally was able to go outside and piss on any preference of tree, instead of the standard doggy pad.

He shook his head and reached for his cooling coffee from the telephone stand to take a sip and re-center himself. Just because he was off the bureaucratic grind didn’t mean he got a day off to be wasting daylight like this, he had a new and important project to dig his fingers into: and that was the Chimera. With a sour face, he downed his deli-grade black coffee (worsened with a splash of milk,) and set to work like every other proud American.  
Having left his grey and bustling office space at the agency, he had relocated all of his possessions from his rarely occupied cubicle (which had accumulated a startling amount of knickknacks over the years, despite being in the field most of the time) into his own study at the basement of his childhood home. He had to admit that organization work had never been his forte, and within the few days after his final mission, his desk had already been covered with stacks of slanting papers and yet to be unboxed packages blockading the ground.

The papers were all of the same nature, from newspapers to transcripts, to secret correspondences; something that had drawn the interest of intellectuals worldwide, which reeked of the Chimera and their untouchable (and to be completely honest, what Curt would otherwise call complete bullshit) plan for an all-knowing, invasive, supercomputer, telecommunications hub. Flicking on the lights, he made his way back to the one empty chair through a carefully picked trail to his desk, paused upon reaching it, and refused to sit.

As much as he had loved wheeling around in it while regaling tales about his latest missions to adoring (and jealous, though he wouldn’t blame them) colleagues, it only reminded him of the night he returned from That Day...  
There had been a celebration for their win at the Geneva/Prussia-Sloviskia situation with Cynthia, the small team involved in the case, Barb, and Tatianna, which had entailed an endless pouring of whiskey and vodka as if fighting for the seat of being the best championing liquor. Departing from the gathering with a smile and a wave out his cab (ignoring, if not noticing, the furrowing of Tatianna’s brow that marred her cheerful farewell) he made his way home, and as he neared the front doors, the warm welcome of his mother’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as he stooped to her embrace. She held him quiet and tight, and he was starting to get a little nervous.

With a quick “Gotta shower, mom” as he apologetically gestured to his wounds, he ascended the stairs to his room--- and immediately proceeded downstairs to the “just in case I’m responsible and would ever need to bring work home” office in the basement, and sat down.

God. It was horrible. As if a guitar string had been snapped, tension released. His shoulders sagged, and he felt it to be near impossible to ever move again. The muscles in his face ached at the apples of his cheeks from the wide smile he had plastered on his face all night. His arms and legs buzzed with a numbing that murmured “guilty” and “murder”. As he finally choked out a sob, he wished he could be swallowed whole by his grey, plush, suffocating, god damned chair.  
So no, he wasn’t going to sit down in his chair. Because he couldn’t. He knew it would be too much to sit in that chair again, and how easily he would be consumed by his mind and fall back into the despair of that night...  
Curt Mega, however, was no pussy, and he was not about to succumb to his emotions because he was also absolutely not suffering from toxic masculinity issues, so he busied himself by rustling through the papers at hand.

With drive and fervor (which he had no time to be analyzing right now,) he had scoured for information; any information; about some complex super surveillance device that could span the world. He felt a little stupid of course, because it wasn’t going to be as easy as that, but he also didn’t have the Informant to pass him detailed reports by the bureau and agency like before, and he regretted not appreciating their work to have everything searched, planned, and detailed to a 'T' as much as he should have. Itching for a coffee (his new choice of poison if he wanted to be awake, and vodka if he… well. If he wanted to not be,) he ran over what little he had been able to find: newspapers which were of little help (because the government could censor the media, big surprise), transcripts (which were infinitely better, but highly limited) detailing about different engineers travelling around or talking about nerdy brunch, and finally some stupid secret correspondences like “you’re fired!” and “you lack communication skills, nerd!” and “we’re relocating you!” and all the other normally expected sort of letters that happen out in society. Hell, he’d heard Cynthia yell these threats on a daily basis, just with more profanities. All in all, there seemed to be no major movement to any grand tech scheme that could ruin the right to privacy for all the citizens of the world. And though he knew it was naive, he briefly considered that maybe it had all ended and that Tatianna’s stunt had been enough to scare the Chimera into the background. But he still couldn’t get it out of his head: “Change is coming, old friend. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  
He wasn’t really sure if this echo inside this head of his was ever going to go away.


	2. Chapter 2

What the hell was a work ethic? Curt would never know. All he knew was that he had to do what he did best, which was going at it headfirst and diving deep to a point where he had no choice but to come out on top. This was how he found himself waking up in a pile of papers during ungodly hours of the morning (at three, to be bitterly exact) with notes sticking to the side of his face. He wasn't sure what day it was, as they all seemed to blend together and the days of the week hardly mattered when there was no schedule but a “must happen asap” type of goal. He puttered around quietly so as to not wake his sleeping mother, straightening up his desk, re-organizing his growing stack of papers, and taking his old coffee cup that gradually got more stained by the day back into the sink in the kitchen.   
After a good while of this fake productivity, he assumed it was an acceptable time to head outside to gather the newspaper and check for any letters. Because it’s not like there was any way he could get a compiled record on the actions made by any of his leads, he’d created a fake identity as a weird obscure manager in each site who was unimportant enough to not be checked, but still part of the necessary process to the nerds tedious and routine progress reports; and another one as an interested investor “in silicon, perhaps?” in hopes of finding his way closer to the obviously wealthy and well-sponsored Chimera. When he stepped back into his living room, he looked up from removing his jacket and did a double-take. “Welcome back home dear, I just let myself invite your lovely friend in while you were gone,” said his mother, and from immediately behind her came a hand and cheerful wave-- angling his head a little further-- a head of shocking and unforgettable red hair.  
“Tatianna!” he exclaims, as he strides towards her and gathers her into his arms.   
“Oh please, like it only hasn’t been a few months.” he decides to not point out that she is smiling no less than him, in a matching grin.  
“I’ll go get the drinks ready. Why don’t you young ones get settled down?” and having said that his mother leaves after pinching his cheeks.  
Curt guides his friend to the couch through their almost painfully flowery wall-papered house, talking and bumping shoulders along the way.   
“So, how’s it been? Living the free life?” He asks, settling down. But he can already tell by the small smile that threatens to spill out;  
“It’s been great. I feel like I can breathe again. My family remains uninvolved in Russia, and I can now dictate my own life and my own choices along the way.”  
“So you haven’t visited them?”  
“Not in this political climate. But the idea that one day I can…”  
They sit, feeling relieved. Content. It’s not often that spies can be happy for each other or sit down and chat with each other without danger hanging over their heads. And they were friends. Good friends! Really good friends! Maybe that’s all the more reason why they both could tell something was… off. Spies will be spies, and as such, neither could ever truly retire. Curt has to break the stretching silence.  
“So, what brought you back here?” he forces out.  
Tatianna releases the breath she’d been holding, and mutters a “thank god,” as her face drops into her hands.“I could not stay away. Not when I knew that answers and schemes were still out there, happening, without me in it. Without me knowing it” she looked up at Curt from between her fingers.  
“I couldn’t either,” said Curt, “and I’ve been through retirement twice.”  
They share a look and know exactly what they’re going to do.  
“I have a home office downstairs-”  
“I brought my folder with an analyzed map I want you to look at-”  
And that's where they were, thirty minutes later with some lemonade, sharing the information they had both been tracking on their own times.   
“I see you’ve been tracking some of the people in the tech field.”  
“Yeah, but it's just smart people going back and forth from different universities. They do that all the time.”  
Tatianna's map suggested the same. Movement within the states and big universities, communications as they always have… “... they’ve increased.”  
“Hm? What do you mean?”  
Tatianna spreads her hands over the map and grabs the tacks and strings from Curts desk.  
“The ‘smart people’ as you so simplify them,” she says, “are going,” her arm moves back and forth across the map. “At high frequencies,” the string winds around the tacks that interrupt her speech. “Between these specific places.”   
They take a step back and observe.  
“The number of visits is concentrated around UCLA’s Network Measurement Center, Stanford Research Institute, University of California-Santa Barbara and the University of Utah,” Curt mumbles as he rubs his chin. He perks, suddenly, and Tatianna is left staring as a whirlwind of papers that take him over for a moment.   
“Here!” he says, and triumphantly he waves a stack of freshly selected papers. “The letters and transcripts from those sites, and those sites specifically!” he scans them over, for anything that he might have missed. Tatianna joins him over his shoulder. “Oh my god,” he breathes at last. “All the files I had on these tech-nerds sounded the same, about some project they were working on or government funding whining… but all of these… all of these say the same thing… these are about resource whining, almost immediately after the night we exploded the…” Tatianna knew he wouldn’t finish the sentence. She wrapped her arms around him and cradled his head to her chest. “So we succeeded in delaying them. Good.” she carefully takes Curts' face in her hands and turns him to face her. “We’re one step closer to winning.”   
“We did all that work so we could’ve won once and for all, not to only start to win,” he thought, but he made sure it only stayed a thought. Instead, “You’re right,” he said and nodded once, trying to seem strong and sure. “One step ahead of the other. We’ll work through this.” Hesitantly, she leans away and extends her hand towards Curt. He smiles a little, and deliberately looks up at her eyes. “I promise.”  
They shake on it, and for a brief moment find confidence in their partnership. They’ve done it before, and they can do it again.  
They come to an agreement after dinner (of a pretty good ‘mom style bolognese) that they’d make this home base. Tatianna would head out and monitor the movement at the locations they’ve found, and keep on the lookout for other suspicious characters… like themselves, in case they were spies for the Chimera keeping an eye on their own projects.  
She takes the guest room that night, and they exchange a fistbump before Curt heads down into his basement again.   
Turning the lights on, looking at his workload seems less daunting and a little more hopeful than before. He wasn’t alone in this! He picks up the small package of letters from the morning and reaches a letter… not addressed to any of his pseudonyms. Curiously blank. Something isn’t right.  
He felt almost sick. Like his right side had frozen over, and a cold iced hand had reached in and snuck past his pancreas and clutched at his stomach. His fingers drag across the cover of the envelope and the paper feels too rough. Against everything good and safe and nice, he opens it.

“You’re going to destroy my legacy? When you have nothing else left of me?”

**Author's Note:**

> First ever fic but most of this is already planned out but I've got to admit I'm struggling with the formatting. Stay tuned though;)


End file.
